


Les Amants Clandestins (en Rouge et en Noir)

by cooliopio



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: (mild angst), F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hospitals, Near Death Experiences, Post-Promised Day, Relationship Reveal, Secret Relationship, Shmoop, gratuitous first name use, restored blindness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29662719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cooliopio/pseuds/cooliopio
Summary: “I don’t need to look around—even if I wasn’t blind—to know you need medical attention. And soon, Lieutenant,” Roy growled lowly.Riza continues to shake her head, “no. I’m not wounded enough.”“Not wounded enough, or don’t think you deserve to be treated?”Riza stays silent.Roy sighs. “Lieutenan—Riza. Please just go to triage and—” Roy cuts himself off as he feels the heaving breaths Riza is taking. He shifts his grasp on her just so to get a reading of her pulse—fast, fluttering, too weak for someone still standing. She feels clammy, and he can visualize how pale she looks.::The next morning, Roy wakes up late.Or at least he thinks so, since he was greeted with the sweet timbre of Riza’s voice when he stretched upon waking.“Riza?” he whispers, almost disbelieving, stopping mid-stretch. “you’re alright?”“Alive, yes. Alright, I don’t know,” she jibes, her humor dry as ever.--Roy and Riza, from the conclusion of the promised day to the weeks after.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	Les Amants Clandestins (en Rouge et en Noir)

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my "stories" folder for months.... just now got to tweaking and posting. Sorry!
> 
> The title says (or is supposed to say) "Clandestine lovers: in red and in black)

“Is he here?” Roy, blind and listless, asks Riza when the dust has started to settle in central

“Yes,” Riza replied weakly, the adrenaline helping her stay upright starting to wear.

Izumi had torn by them a few minutes ago, manhandling Roy out of his greatcoat, rushing to the newly restored Alphonse.

“Wow,” Roy exhales. Riza nods her head in agreement, tired.

Roy’s chest lightens with the realization that the boys had gone and achieved what they set out to do—get their original bodies back. It sinks, for probably the hundredth time this cursed day, when he realizes that he will never be able to see Alphonse in the flesh, or Fullmetal without his automail arm. He loses himself in his thought for a moment, before he is dragged back to the present.

“Sir,” Riza vocalizes just barely, coming out as more of an exhale than a word.

“Lieutenant?” Roy turns his head in the direction of her, but he can’t see her.

“I’m not feeling…” she stutters, pulse quickening, “I’m not feeling very well.”

Roy’s eyes widen with panic, “What do you mean, Lieutenant?”

“I-I’m feeling rather unstable.”

Roy, with his arm still around her, can feel the slight shake in her stance, the bend at her knees in her posture as she leans into him to try and ebb the feeling.

“You lost a lot of blood, Lieutenant,” Roy observes as he straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin, “we need to get you to a medic.”

Riza shakes her head, “No, I think I may just have to sit down for a second. I don’t think I’d be considered high priority in triage.”

Roy blinks. “You don’t think you’d be high priority, Lieutenant? Your throat was cut open. Of course you’d be high priority,” he exclaims, incredulity in his voice.

Riza grunts in protest, “no—that Xingese girl stopped the bleeding. Look around, Colonel—” _to see the dead and injured,_ she stops herself, brought back with the heart-wrenching realization the Colonel _c_ _an’t_ see all the carnage that surrounds them.

“I don’t need to look around—even if I wasn’t blind—to know you need medical attention. And soon, Lieutenant,” Roy growled lowly.

Riza continues to shake her head, “no. I’m not wounded enough.”

“Not wounded enough, or don’t think you deserve to be treated?”

Riza stays silent.

Roy sighs. “Lieutenan— _Riza._ Please just go to triage and—” Roy cuts himself off as he feels the heaving breaths Riza is taking. He shifts his grasp on her just so to get a reading of her pulse—fast, fluttering, too weak for someone still standing. She feels clammy, and he can visualize how pale she looks.

“Riza!” he jolts. 

Riza keeps her silence, losing her balance and leaning onto her colonel for support, until she loses it altogether and becomes dead weight.

“Riza!” Roy shouts, as he stumbles to keep himself righted with the unexpected mass.

Riza is completely lithe in his arms, her breath still fast and pained—but steady. She’s just fainted, he decides.

But fainting after getting your carotid artery sliced—even if the bleeding stopped—is not a good thing.

Panic wells up in Roy’s chest as he frets about his Lieutenant, his oldest friend.

“Help!” he shouts, unable to see if anyone is responding, or even paying attention. He can’t even take her to triage himself. He feels utterly useless.

“Help! She’s lost a lot of blood, and she fainted! Help!” he continues to shout.

“Someone, please! I can’t see, please help her for me!” his eyes are beginning to sting with tears.

He is about to shout for help again as he hears pounding footsteps on the pavement nearing his location.

“Get her on the stretcher,” Roy hears a medic say, a sitting duck in the middle of this chaos.

Roy feels his grasp on Riza loosen as the medics take hold of her and begin to move away from him.

“Wait--!” Roy pleads in the direction of the medics, “please take me with you. I’ve lost my sight, and I’d get lost without her.”

He is offered no response, but a firm grasp takes hold of his wrist and drags him along, and they rush to the tents popped up outside—Roy is deposited in an uncomfortable chair to, presumably, get him out of the way.

“Start a blood drip on her.”

“Blood type?”

“A positive,” Roy offers, distraught, distant.

He hears tearing, and rustling, and commotion around him, but he can’t _see anything_. He can’t see if Riza is alright—his right hand, his oldest friend, his love.

He can feel himself working into a panic attack, if he doesn’t do anything about the fear inside of him.

“Will she be okay?” Roy asks, voice tight as raspy.

A medic sighs to his left, “I can’t say for certain. It’s about fifty-fifty right now, considering how long she stayed on her feet.”

A strangled noise involuntarily makes its way from Roy’s throat.

“We need to get her transferred to the hospital immediately,” the medic to his right says, “We don’t have enough blood bags out here right now. Arrange for transport to Central Military Hospital and get her infused and scheduled for reconstructive surgery.”

A different medic from behind Roy rushes out of the tent, he thinks, telling from the sound of flapping canvas, to call for transport.

“Surgery...?” Roy whispers to himself, but loud enough for the medic to hear, apparently.

“Whatever healed her neck to stop the bleeding was good, but a temporary solution at best. Her neck needs to be put back together before it heals further naturally and causes more issues in the future.”

Roy nods.

Three infinitely long minutes pass before the medic returns.

“Convoy arranged out front, get her ready to go,” the returning medic heaves, breathless from running.

The medics in the room burst into action, getting Riza out of the tent, limited blood dripping slowly into her arm. He gets the feeling she looks completely at peace on the stretcher. They’d always been good at reading each other’s atmospheres, he thinks.

Before he can ask about what is getting done with him, a medic grabs him by the wrist again.

“You’re coming with. Those hands are way beyond what we can do here in the field.”

Roy just nods in return as he allows himself to be led to the make-shift ambulance that’s been set up for transport.

The medic helps him into the lifted vehicle and sits him in a bench at the sides as Riza is laid down the middle. Roy stretches his hand out in search of Riza. But his hand is snatched from a medic again before he can reach her.

“We need to get these gloves off before they start to cause more problems. The fact it’s already started clotting to the cloth is bad,” the medic says before ripping the glove off his punctured hand in one swift motion.

Roy winces in pain and doesn’t even notice the other one being ripped off as a result.

Upon arrival to the hospital, the pair is split up, much to Roy’s displeasure. He protests as they’re escorted to different locations, and he bemoans this openly, weakly calling for Riza as he is led to a room for treatment.

The last word on his lips before he is pricked with an IV to be put under is _“Riza.”_

::

He wakes up slowly, head clouded from the medication, hands tightly wrapped, but one thought on his mind: _Riza._

He snaps to rather quickly, shouting her name as he sits up in bed, frantically searching around the room before he remembers he’s blind.

His breathing becomes heavy as he feels backed into a corner, lost. He’s been left alone in the dark, doesn’t know where he is, or how to find her. “Riza” whispers past his lips as he works himself into a proper panic.

Firm hands take purchase on his shoulders, grounding him, and ease him back into laying in bed.

“Relax, Colonel. The Lieutenant is fine. She got out of surgery last night. You both have been out for a while,” a voice who he recognizes as Breda’s says.

“Breda,” Roy slurs, a bit off from the pain medication, “Where’s Riza?

Perhaps his filter is inhibited when he’s under the influence. No wonder Riza always monitored his intake on nights out with the team, he thinks.

“The lieutenants in recovery, like you. A handful of doors down.”

“Can I—Can I be with her?” Roy asks, uncertain.

“You mean, you want to bunk with her?” Breda clarifies.

Roy nods.

He hears Breda sigh and slap his legs—meaning he must be standing up from sitting; a characteristic that’s stuck from his childhood in West Amestris—"I’ll go ask the nurse. I’ll be back in five minutes, tops.”

Roy is restless for the entire five minutes Breda is gone—fidgeting with his hands and kicking his blanket around.

Two sets of footsteps enter the room.

“You’d like to be moved in with the Lieutenant? Your colleague explained the specifics to me,” a feminine voice he presumes to be a nurse dictates.

Roy lets out a breathless “ _Please._ ”

He is lead to Riza’s room in a wheelchair, instead of transporting the whole bed since he only has the IV pole, and his condition is not dire enough to warrant moving the whole bed.

He hears a door being budged open, and he is rolled inside. The sounds of machines beeping ring in his ears.

“She’s still asleep,” Breda supplies before he can ask.

Roy simply nods and gets situated in his new bed beside Riza.

He isn’t getting far in his quest for sleep. He stays awake listening to the beeps of Riza’s heart monitor and the smooth pattern of her breathing.

Around three in the morning, he hears a hitch in her breath, and a groan.

_Is she awake?_

“Riza?” Roy whispers, tentatively.

He gets a groan in return.

A smile spreads across his face, reassured that she’s _alive_.

He hears her slump back and her breath even out, again. She must’ve fallen back asleep.

Now, Roy sleeps easily knowing his love is safe.

::

The next morning, Roy wakes up late.

Or at least he thinks so, since he was greeted with the sweet timbre of Riza’s voice when he stretched upon waking.

“Riza?” he whispers, almost disbelieving, stopping mid-stretch. “you’re alright?”

“Alive, yes. Alright, I don’t know,” she jibes, her humor dry as ever.

“Where are you?” he lifts his hand and gestures to his left; he thinks he was placed in the bed closest to the window.

Riza grunts, affirming his gesture, “A few paces that direction.

Roy immediately hops out of his bed, striding towards Riza clumsily, hands still stretched out.

Riza grasps his outstretched hand in both of hers when he gets close enough, and Roy absolutely melts.

He brings her hands to his forehead as a tear slips out. He positions himself on the edge of her bed, and hunches almost protectively over her.

She slips a hand out of his that, in turn, had grasped hers; she brushes through Roy’s hair, rough and dirty, but uncaring.

“I’m here, Roy. I’m here.”

They fall asleep soon after, like that.

::

The next week, Dr. Marcoh shows up with an irrefusable offer.

::

“Alright, Mustang. I want you to keep your eyes closed until I tell you it’s alright to open them. The light from the philosophers stone is quite bright, and since you’ve been living in darkness for the past few weeks, it would be painful to look at it, do you understand?” Dr. Marcoh asks, hovering close to Mustang, ready to restore his vision as his team—Havoc included—watch around him in anticipation.

“Yes, Doctor,” Roy nods.

“Alright. This may cause a sensation, but it shouldn’t be painful. Tingling at most,” Dr. Marcoh says. No one responds, their breath held.

Marcoh activates the stone, and Roy keeps his eyes closed as instructed. Marcoh places his hands over Roy’s eyes.

“Alright, open them,” Marcoh instructs. Roy listens.

Marcoh slowly spreads his fingers out to let a gradual amount of light in to slowly acclimate Roy’s eyes.

Roy blinks as Marcoh removes his hands, and squints as his eyes protest the light, watering.

His vision is good, if not a bit blurry in the distance; Marcoh sneaks out of the room when his job is finished.

Roy’s eyes dart around the room until his eyes land on who he was looking for.

Riza and Roy lock eyes. Roy is absolutely enchanted by Riza’s brown irises ringed with honey—he’s never noticed before.

“ _Riza_ ,” he breathes, wetly, rushing to capture her in a hug.

“I’m here _,”_ she responds, muffled by his neck.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” he whispers.

Riza pulls back, with a playful smirk on her face, “What, your last image of me wasn’t enough to last?”

Roy frowns, placing his hands on his hips, “considering my last image of you was your neck slit open and you bleeding out, _no_ , Lieutenant. It wasn’t satisfactory enough.”

A soft, light chuckle echoes from the other people in the room, all of them beaming smiles.

Roy takes a moment to look over Riza, all of her. Taking every detail in.

He raises his hands to her hair, taking a section into his palm.

“You know, when I first met you, I thought your hair was a really striking color. Almost like gold. I suppose I’ve gotten used to it over the years. It’s like I’m seeing it for the first time again.”

Riza chuckles, “I hope ‘striking’ is a good thing.”

Roy scoffs and rolls his eyes. _His seeing eyes_. “Of course it’s a good thing. Everything else about you back then was so harsh. It was the one thing about you that was soft,” he laughs; the team snickers in the background.

Riza slaps his shoulder without malice, “I was thirteen and running the household. I had to hold myself to a certain standard. Besides, it got better when you came.”

Roy considers this for a moment, “yeah, I suppose you’re right. I really won your affections my last year there,” Roy responds, innuendo laced in his voice/

Riza blushes, “ _Sir,_ ” she reprimands incredulously, her eyes flickering between Roy and the team behind them, (who is watching their interaction like it was live entertainment).

In that moment, he’s so overcome with emotion—he’s here, he can see, his team is fine and _alive_ —he can’t help but start crying again.

“I—Sir?” Riza asks; and although she used the word ‘sir,’ it absolutely meant ‘darling’ or ‘sweetie’ with the tone she was using.

“I’m fine,” Roy sniffles, drying his eyes with the back of his hand, “I just—I never thought I’d see you again, Reez.”

Riza smiles gently and picks up one of Roy’s hands in hers and hums in acknowledgement.

“We could’ve made it work, your blindness. No doubt about it. But it’s nice to see _you_ again-- really be able to look into your eyes, and not your blank stare,” she admits softly.

“I never want to stop looking at you,” Roy admits, even softer, inaudible to the team, as he brings their foreheads together. Riza buries one of her hands in his hair.

Roy lifts his head and places a chaste kiss to Riza’s forehead before taking her back into a hug.

Someone clearing their throat brings them back to reality. They forgot there were other people in the room besides them.

Their heads swivel to the source of the noise—Havoc.

Havoc is wearing a shit-eating grin, but the rest are looking on admiringly, happy for them.

“Thirteen, huh?” Havoc teases; the team wasn’t _quite_ aware they had known each other that long.

Riza clears her throat, straightening her posture. “Ro—Colonel Mustang was my father’s alchemy apprentice starting when I was thirteen and ending when I was sixteen, when he left for the academy.”

Breda nods, this makes sense to him.

“So, it was your father who developed flame alchemy?” he asks, knowing it was the colonel’s master who had developed flame alchemy, but wanting the clarification of Hawkeye’s relation, nonetheless.

“Yes, it was,” Riza confirms meekly.

A moment of dense silence fills the room.

“So,” Havoc breaks the silence with a curt bark and a cough, “affections, huh?”

The pair blush, and Havoc’s smile grows wider, “What’s next you tell us you’ve been an item this whole time?”

“No,” Riza curtly negates, “The Colonel and I aren’t in a relationship.”

This confuses the others in the room. Their display had been blatantly romantic.

Roy grunts his affirmation, sitting himself on the edge of the bed casually. “The anti-fraternization laws make sure of that.”

Breda quirks an eyebrow, “well there’s obviously something going on here.”

Riza hums and closes her eyes and leans against the wall, contemplating, “You’re not wrong, Lieutenant,” she relents, voice barely above a whisper, avoiding eye contact, “The Colonel and I have known each other a long time. Before Ishval, before flame alchemy, before I even thought about going to the academy. Back then, I guess, you could say we had more of a traditional romantic relationship.”

Roy groans, and tilts his head back in resignation, “imagine my disbelief when she showed up on the battlefield out of nowhere. I thought she was out east for school.”

“Technically, I _was_ out east for school,” Riza defends.

“Yeah, the _military academy_. Not the teacher’s college, _like you told me._ ”

Riza shrugged. Roy sighed.

“But feelings don’t go away just because you find yourself in the middle of a war together and suddenly bound to the laws of the military,” Roy laments.

“Roy— _The Colonel_ ” Riza corrects herself hastily, ever formal, “and I knew we couldn’t have a traditional relationship while I was under his command. It was too risky.”

The room’s other occupants nod understandingly, all aware of Roy’s plans since their recruitment to the squad, and currently living the aftermath of them.

Roy clears his throat, “So we settled for something in the middle. Not explicitly romantic. But not just friends, either” a brief silence fills the room again, and Roy soon sighs, “But after all this—this’—” he waves his hands around him—“ _nightmare_ , I frankly don’t give a damn. Reez and I have been talking these past few weeks in the hospital and… as long as you guys don’t rat us out…” he trails off

“…The Colonel and I’d like to actually pursue something of substance,” Riza concludes for him.

Breda smirks and lets out a curt laugh, scuffing his feet on the floor, “always so formal, Lieutenant. You both act like we haven’t known you two were in love this whole time.”

(The rest of the team nods in agreement, beaming).

Roy’s eyes fly open, panicked, “was it obvious?”

Breda shakes his head vehemently, “No, no. I think it was only obvious to us because we spent so much time together.”

Roy lets out a genuine smile, grateful for their support.

“Thank you, men. Now,” he clears his throat and squares his shoulders, “get out of my room.”

His men laugh and make way towards the door.

“Please don’t fuck in a hospital,” Havoc chides, and Fuery cringes at his blunt language.

“Please, Havoc. I have _some_ standards,” Roy smirks.

Riza gives a pointed glare to Havoc, and Havoc just laughs.

The team clears out, and the door closes, leaving the unconventional couple alone. Roy takes Riza’s face in his hands; for the first time in years, he hisses her on the lips. He breathes into her, desperate, like if he pulled back, she’d disappear. She kisses back with the same fervor, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Roy pulls back to catch his breath, “I love you,” he says, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“I love you, too, Roy,” she replies, face glowing with joy.

“I’m so glad I didn’t lose you,” Roy whispers in her ear, kissing her cheek, her forehead, her eyebrow, her neck, her chin.

“And you never will,” Riza assures as she grins harder than she thought possible.

The couple, becoming less unconventional, settles into the bed and simply lay with each other, exchanging soft words.

Outside the room, the team, unnoticed, peeks through the window on the door, and is silently celebrating their kiss; money exchanges giddy hands as bets are cashed. No one is upset about losing money-- they’re just happy their leaders can finally have each other like they were meant to.

**Author's Note:**

> this document was saved as "blindness pog" on my laptop. i always name fic files the weirdest things.  
> thanks for reading!  
> kudos/comments appreciated and mean a lot!  
> lmk if theres any errors...
> 
> tumblr @unfairlawyer!


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